


Something to Celebrate

by StillFeelLikeATeenager



Category: One Tree Hill
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 15:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillFeelLikeATeenager/pseuds/StillFeelLikeATeenager
Summary: It’s been the weirdest couple of days in the Big Apple, he thinks as he kills a little time at the airport book store.  Signing divorce papers, which in turn meant a changing of the guard in terms of editor.He turns to head out into the large space of the terminal and sees the back of a woman who is standing by a central table looking at his first book and another from one of his bestseller list rivals, one in each hand as if carefully weighing a decision between the two.He can’t resist; he still loves talking to readers of his books in person and there’s something about her long, jeans clad legs and almost shoulder blade length reddish blonde hair that makes him smile to himself. And, after all, he’s single again, right?  He approaches, places his hand on the book, his book (his book about that girl from so long ago, the one that he hadn’t tried to hang on to for long enough) and speaks near the woman’s ear. “I’d pick that one. I hear it’s really good.”She pushes back the long hair that covers her face and looks up, smiling.“Oh,” is all he can say. Then, a beat or two later. “It’s … it’s you.”“Well, well, well,” she drawls, hands on hips, her smile having grown only wider. “Lucas Scott.”





	Something to Celebrate

What You Need To Know

 _Canon to the end of Season 4, including the flashback scenes to the LA proposal that we saw in Season 5. Peyton did not return to Tree Hill as she did for Season 5, though Lucas did marry Lindsey. This takes place around six years after LA, so they’re twenty-five (ish)._ _I was a huge Peyton/Lucas fan while watching the show, but anything I write always turns into Peyton/Nathan. Except this one. Kept thinking about those cute flashback scenes to Peyton and Julian in LA and being happy and thought maybe, in another universe, that worked out._

 

 It’s been the weirdest couple of days in the Big Apple, he thinks as he kills a little time at the airport book store.  Signing divorce papers, which in turn meant a changing of the guard in terms of editor. He still couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about that.

The divorce had been coming for longer than they’d been happily married. In fact, he wondered if they’d _ever_ actually been happily married or if they’d both been fooling themselves, and each other, right from the start.  It had been a relief when she’d put her coffee cup down a little forcefully one morning and looked him in the eye and said “It’s not just me, is it? This is ... it’s just not _right_ , Lucas.” And he’d agreed, a little reluctantly because he’d never been good at acknowledging the end of a relationship; he’d always tried to hang on too long … except just the once, when he hadn’t tried to hang on long enough. But it had been fine, really. Amicable. No arguments. No freezing each other out. No kids to worry about.

But it had never crossed his mind that she’d hand him over to another editor. That had hurt more than the dissolution of their marriage. And he’d wanted to hate the new editor (a guy, maybe just as well given his predilection for transferring feelings to the nearest substitute woman). Probably wanted to hate him just to spite _her_ , really. But Dan (unfortunate name) was great. He’d done his homework, had read Lucas’ three novels, and the partial manuscript for the fourth, and had made some excellent, well considered suggestions for where it should go next.  And he was a basketball fan with season Knicks tickets. Trips to New York would be something to look forward to again.

Here, in the airport bookstore, he turns to head out into the large space of the terminal and, in the process, sees the back of a woman who is standing by a central table looking at his first book and another from one of his bestseller list rivals, one in each hand as if carefully weighing a decision between the two.

He can’t resist; he still loves talking to readers of his books in person and there’s something about her long, jeans clad legs and almost shoulder blade length reddish blonde hair that makes him smile to himself. And, after all, he’s single again, right?  He approaches, places his hand on the book, _his_ book (his book about that girl from so long ago, the one that he hadn’t tried to hang on to for long enough) and speaks near the woman’s ear. “I’d pick that one. I hear it’s really good.”

She’s badly startled and drops her large slouchy bag then promptly bends to pick up her scattered things. He sees she has earbuds in so had had no inkling of his approach, and maybe didn’t actually hear his words, maybe just got one hell of a fright at some apparent psycho creeping up behind her, touching her possible purchase and hovering at her ear. As he’s about to apologise profusely for scaring her, she stands in a fluid motion, still looking at the items she’s throwing back in the bag, then, without turning, speaks.

“It _is_ great. I’ve already read it. I was just admiring the new cover artwork.”

She pushes back the long hair that covers her face and looks up, smiling.

“Oh,” is all he can say. Then, a beat or two later. “It’s … it’s you.”

“Well, well, well,” she drawls, hands on hips, her smile having grown only wider. “Lucas Scott.”

She stands and looks at him for a moment, seemingly completely unfazed, whereas he feels like his heart’s about to leap out of his mouth, then her smile turns into a grin. A real, thoroughly genuine grin.

“Well, get over here!” she declares with enthusiasm.  “You too big a literary star to hug an old girlfriend?”

She steps right to him, threads her hands past his waist and pulls him in. He doesn’t mean to respond, doesn’t _want_ to respond, but somehow his arms are around her shoulders and he’s returning her tight squeeze, marvelling that she smells just the same.

“Wow,” she says, stepping back. “Lucas Scott! Trying to hand sell your books in airports? Do big shot bestselling authors still do that?”  
“Just to the pretty girls,” he smirks.

“Oh, c’mon,” she laughs. “ _Pretty Girl_ was always Brooke’s nickname.”

He shakes his head, still in disbelief.

“How long’s it been?” she asks, a little crinkle between her perfect eyebrows indicating that she’s trying to work it out herself.

“Um. Five years?” he poses.

“Oh, it’s been more than that,” she disagrees. “I _think_ it’s more like six.”

“Peyton Sawyer,” he says with a laugh that sounds nervous even to his own ears. “What are you doing here? Heading home?”

“Oh. No. New York _is_ home. Has been for … um ... three years? A little more, maybe. I’m … just hideously early for a flight.”  
“Peyton Sawyer? Early?” he says, playing the _does not compute_ look well.

“I had a meeting between the office and the airport,” she explains, “and I thought it’d take hours of haggling and explaining and pitching, but all they wanted to do was sign on the dotted line so … fifteen minutes later and I’m done and have like … hours to fill in before Jules meets me here.”

“Hence the bookshop?” he asks, gesturing around them.  
“Hence the bookshop,” she agrees.

“Well … _my_ flight has been delayed by a couple hours and I’m stuck here so …”  
“Coffee!?” she declares.

“Coffee,” he agrees, ushering her in front of him to the tiny espresso bar further down the concourse, unable to tear his eyes from her hips and legs, _oh lord those legs_ , as she walks … sways, sashays … in front of him.

She’s warm, and gracious as they walk. Every so often she does something - like quirk an eyebrow, or bite her bottom lip, or laugh and drag her slender fingers through her loose hair – that makes him have to talk his heart into slowing down. Things that take him back years. Things that make his blood feel thick and languid. Things that make him think a whole lot of thoughts he really shouldn’t be, _couldn’t_ be, thinking.

And once or twice, as they get nearer to the little coffee shop, he has bite his tongue to swallow the bitterness, the resentment, the whys, the why nots. It’s only the fact that she’s being so … herself, that stops him. And that she seems to carry no weight about this accidental meeting. She’s not at all hesitant, not awkward, not … anything that would suggest she’s thinking about the disaster that was their _last_ meeting.

“So … your meeting?” he ventures as they take a seat and await the coffees ordered and paid for by her. She hadn’t even ask him how he had it; she remembered, leaving him both a little flummoxed and a little breathless for a minute. “Signing a new artist?”  
“Yeah! So exciting. He’s gonna be huge, I think. His lines and colour and …”  
“Colour?” he asks, confused.  
“Yeah. Vibrant. Energised. Just … amazing,” she rambles. “Makes me feel all … _alive_ just to see his work.”  
“See?”

“Lucas? What’s ...?”  
“You’re not working in music anymore?” he asks, stunned by the realisation.  
“Oh God, no!” she answers looking a little surprised. “That … it was just bad. It got really bad. And … so … no. Art. I’m co-owner of a small gallery.”  
“Right. Well … I guess it was always going to be music or art, right?” he says, recovering his composure. “And … so if New York is home, then where are you flying to? Not … home home?”

“Home home?”  
“Tree Hill?”

“Oh Lord. No. Gosh. I don’t remember the last time I … oh yes, I do … I was there for a week when I was … um … 21, catching up with my Dad. So … four years ago now.”

“No plans to go back?” he asks, wondering why something that feels like hope is bubbling in his belly.  
“No. It’s … it’s really not home anymore. Not since Dad sold the house,” she shrugs.  
“Larry sold up?”  
“Oh yeah. That time I went back he was talking about it then so I went through all my stuff and shipped some and trashed the crap. And he went through with it … oh … about a year later, I guess.”

“Wow.  I … I didn’t know,” he says unnecessarily.

“Well ... it was a private sale to a colleague of his so probably no one really knew ‘til the deal was done.” She pauses, takes a sip of the newly arrived coffee before she continues. “And you’ve been living in the Big Apple anyway, haven’t you?”

“Um, yeah. How did you ...?”

Again, she looks a little baffled, but answers him with a tone that is light and warm.  
“Well, you know … big shot author; society pages and all.”  
He wonders, if she was living in New York and knew he was, why she never made any effort to get in touch. Then he remembers in every single one of those photos, Lindsey was clutching on to his arm for dear life.  And of course, why would an old girlfriend make any effort to get in touch when it looked to the world like he was glued to his editor wife?  And then, does he have the right to ask her that?  Was the onus ever on her to break years of silence?

She scrambles madly through her bag when the trill of her phone interrupts, just as he’s about to take the bull by the horns and ask her why she never contacted him. She ducks her head apologetically and gestures that she’ll only take a few minutes.  He can’t help but listen to her side of the phone conversation. She’s only a couple of feet away, and her voice, still with a soft Southern lilt every so often, is like liquid honey washing over him.

“Hey! Did you manage to get time to pick up my ...?”

“Thanks, Jules. So how far off are you?”  
“Only ten? Cool. I’m in that tiny coffee bar you love. I ran into an old …”  
“I know! That’s like … three times in a row … running smack bang into my past at every airport I go to!” she laughs.

As she’s dropping her phone back into her bag, he finds himself asking her about her friend instead of what he really wants to know; why did she never call?

“Jules? Colleague?”

“Nooooo.” There’s that confused look again. “We live together.”

“And you’re off to ...?”

“Our big week in Napa. Jules’ family has a place there so … yeah … it’s been a long time coming but it’s going to be so gorgeous.”

“Were you saying you’d run into …? Sorry, I wasn’t really eavesdropping.”

“Oh, it’s fine! Um … yeah last time I was at an airport I ran into Pete.”  
“Pete?”  
“Fall Out Boy Pete. And his wife; she’s so lovely. First time I’d seen him since, well, that weekend at Rachel’s cabin. I can’t believe he recognised me really. And then, the time before that when I was at an airport I ran in to Jake.”

“Jagielski!?” he splutters out, almost choking on his coffee.  
“Yeah! Amazing, huh? Jules thinks it’s hilarious that I keep running into exes at airports … and now …”  
“Me,” he supplies.  
“And now you,” she nods. “Must be Nathan next time, I guess, then I’ll be all out of exes!”

And of course, he immediately puts two and two together and makes four. Four guys. Nathan, Jake, Pete, him. That means there’s been no one else.  That means she’s single. And he’s single. And … no, wait. Maybe she’s _not_ single; maybe it’s just that there’s no other exes. So, it’s either that there’s been no one, or it’s that there’s someone right now. _Clear and present danger_ runs through his mind. And his head is spinning with the possibility. He thinks that’s logical; that it could be really, really good (it’s no one and she’s single) or really, really bad (it’s someone and it’s … maybe it’s serious.) She’s twenty-five, just like him. She wouldn’t muck about with something with no future, he thinks. But … he’s already surreptitiously confirmed that her left hand is ring free.  How does he find out?

Just short of the ten minutes, and after she’s quizzed him with genuine interest and enthusiasm about his published books and his current project, Jules turns up. And Jules is _not_ the female roommate he’d assumed. Jules is a tall, brunette guy. A well dressed, confident, bright and breezy _guy_. With a crooked grin that probably drives girls nuts. And a charming manner. With eyes only for her, he kisses Peyton on the temple in a move that Lucas immediately feels both resentful and possessive of. _He_ did that. That’s _his_ move. He should have patented it; patented his Peyton move.

“Oh hey,” Julian says, extending his hand, and clearly recognising the man sitting across the table from Peyton. “Julian Baker. Lucas Scott, right?”

“Um, yeah. Are you a fan?”  
“Oh, no. Wow, that sounded rude, didn’t it?” he winces. “I’m not _not_ a fan. I actually really liked _Ravens_ , though maybe that had just a bit to do with this amazing creature,” he grins, tilting his head towards Peyton. “I just … that’s just not why I recognised you.”  
Lucas raises an eyebrow and waits.

“Photos,” Julian says, taking a seat. “Peyt’s got a few old high school photos around the place.”

“You do?” Lucas asks, surprised, turning back to her.

“Of course, you guys were all … like … my family!  And I’m kind of a hoarder that way. I have all my old sketches and some of the old paintings and … oh … speaking of paint. Baby, where’s my …?”  
There was the kiss on the temple and the obvious affection between them, but that _baby_ from her? That’s the first actual confirmation that they’re _together_. And Lucas feels like he’s been stabbed. The knife is twisted a moment later, when Julian pulls a ring from his pocket.

“Carl is _not_ happy with you,” he says to Peyton, mock telling off, eyebrow raised.

“I bet,” she laughs.

“In fact, Carl wants many sexual favours in return for cleaning this up for you … again,” he says suggestively.  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she laughs. “Carl would be more interested in sexual favours from _you_ than from me.”  
“Well … yeah,” he agrees with a chuckle. “I didn’t say he wanted them from _you_ , did I?”  
“Tease,” she grins, eyebrow raised.

“Seriously though,” Julian continues as he takes her left hand and slips the diamond onto her ring finger, gazing at her all the while. “He said if you keep getting paint on it, he’s going to replace it with a cubic zirconia ‘cos you don’t deserve the real McCoy if you’re going to keep abusing it like that.”

“You paint?” Lucas asks, swinging his squinting eyes from her hand up to her face.

“Yeah,” she replies, a little distracted as she admires the ring with obvious fondness. “I said I had a gallery …”  
“I guess … I thought … managing, admin …”  
“That too,” she shrugs.

“I’m sorry,” she pouts, returning her attention to Julian. “I know I’m terrible getting paint on it again but … I can’t _not_ wear it. And you know what I’m like when I get inspired. I just … get a bit crazy and frenzied.”  
“Oh, honey, I _know_ that,” he says suggestively, as if there’s no one else present.

“Tease,” she repeats.

“You wait ‘til tonight,” he mutters. “Or better yet, maybe on the plane?”  
“No!” she laughs, smacking his bicep. “You can try all you like; there will be no Mile-High Club for you. Not unless you find someone else to do it with.”

“Like I could ever even look at another girl,” Julian says, retaining her hand and reaching into his jacket pocket again. “ _Anyways_ … Carl and I came up with a solution.”  
“You did? It had better not involve a cubic zirconia ...”  
“Nope,” he says smugly, pulling a simple but edgy chain, made of interesting shaped links, from his pocket. “It involves me putting this around your pretty neck, and you putting the ring on this whenever you’re painting. Think you can handle that?”

“Julian Baker! That is _beautiful_!” she takes the chain from him and studies the links, flashing her green eyes at him and asking him to do the catch for her; that she has to wear it _right now_.

“How many sexual favours did Carl extract from you for this?” she asks, after placing a sweet kiss on his lips.

“Many,” he replies with a chuckle, kissing her back. “But it’s okay. You can replenish my supplies tonight.”  
“You’d better make the most of it. You know Brooke won’t let us be together _tomorrow_ night.”  
“Well then, lucky you, Peyton Sawyer, you get double helpings of me tonight! And … maybe again tomorrow morning, you know, just to tide you over.”  
“Lucky me indeed,” she laughs, placing her palm briefly against his cheek.

“She’s really going to make us go with that old tradition?” Julian asks, screwing his nose up.  
“Oh hell yeah!” Peyton replies.

“I need coffee,” Julian says mildly. “And maybe booze too. Anyone?” he asks looking at Lucas.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” Lucas replies, still in mild shock after hearing Brooke’s name.

While Julian waits at the counter, he stares hard at Peyton. When she doesn’t question his intense gaze, he eventually speaks up.

“Brooke? You’re in touch with Brooke?” he asks, sounding dumbfounded.  
“Of course, Lucas. She’s my best friend. Why wouldn’t I be in touch with her?”  
“I … I just … she never mentions you when I talk to her,” he says in bewilderment.  
Peyton shrugs, unconcerned.

“Well I guess she has plenty of other things to tell you about, being Miss CEO of COB and all. But … yeah … we’ve never lost touch. She’s going to be my Maid of Honour.”

“You … your Maid of Honour. Of course. One day.”  
“Well … in _two_ days, yeah.”  
He pales and looks decidedly ill. Is this what another heart attack feels like?

“You’re getting married?”  
“Well, yeah.” She waves the ringed hand between them a little and seems puzzled, as if she assumed he knew, that he _already_ knew.

“ _That’s_ why you’re going to Napa? To get married?”  
“Well ... yes,” she answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“To Julian?”  
“Um … yes?” she semi says, semi asks, with a somewhat disbelieving tone.  
“You really don’t seem too convinced, Peyton. You sure he’s the right guy for you? You having doubts? Regrets about … earlier opportunities, maybe?” he suggests with a surge of the bitterness he’d been dampening down.

She looks at him sharply, but doesn’t bite. She takes a moment, considering her words.

“No,” she says eventually, and with a carefully modulated tone. “That isn’t what I was thinking at all.”

“Then what?”  
“Actually Lucas, I was wondering why you would think that you had the right to say something like that to me, at all, when this is the first time I’ve seen you in the best part of six years. But especially given that you moved on to a new relationship well before I did, and even more so given that you married before I did.”

“I … I guess it’s just a …”  
“Oh. Wow, I just … oh my God!” she exclaims as Julian slips back into his seat.  
“What?” Julian asks her, but she continues looking at Lucas.  
“You still have your blacklist in place, don’t you?” she almost laughs, leaning back in her seat and looking at the blond man across the table while shaking her head.

“Blacklist?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know what she means.  
“ _She whose name shall not be spoken_? You wouldn’t let anyone even mention my name. God, I’ve been a bit slow on that. That’s why you’re so … that’s why you’ve had no idea what’s going on with me.”  
“And _you_ know what’s going on with _me_?”

“Yeah, sure. A bit at least.”  
“Right,” he says cynically.

“I know you started seeing Lindsey about a year after we broke up. I know you married her after you’d been together about two years. I know you’re separated. And I was so sorry to hear that, by the way. I know you’ve been living in New York at least part time. I know you’re working on book number four.”

“So … _you_ didn’t blacklist _me_?” he asks incredulously.  
“No! No Lucas, I didn’t. I would never do that,” she says with a shake of her head. “You … what we had is part of who I am; it meant too much for me to just … write you out of my life and pretend it never happened.”  
“It just didn’t mean enough to say yes,” he mutters before he can stop himself.

“That is _not_ true! Lucas, that’s not what happened and you know it. I said in a year. That’s all I wanted. And … you know what? I think it was _you_ it didn’t mean enough to. You’re the one that didn’t think we could last a year if we waited.”

“I …”  
“I’m sorry you didn’t feel the same way about our time together, Lucas,” she says firmly. “That you just brushed it all under the carpet. I’m sorry you …”  
“Should you be saying this?” he asks, gesturing toward Julian.

“Sure,” she shrugs, glancing at the brunette. Her fiancé. “Julian knows.”  
“He does?” He looks incredibly surprised, while Peyton laughs wryly.

“I guess we did impact each other, after all,” she says a little sadly.

“What do you mean?”  
“I tell Jules everything; maybe because you made me more open. And you’ve spent the last few years trying to expunge me out of your history; maybe because I made you more closed off.”

She gazes into space for a moment then is pulled back into the present by Julian reaching out and tucking her hair behind her hair. He sends her a tender smile, which she returns, slightly glassy eyed.

“Well,” the brunette says softly, turning to look at Lucas, and taking Peyton’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles gently, “for what it’s worth, Lucas Scott. I am pretty damned grateful that you wouldn’t wait a year.  It may have taken me some time to catch this one, but she’s worth every minute of the wait, and then some.”

When Peyton and Julian leave the espresso bar a somewhat awkward and subdued half hour or so later, Lucas watches them walk away. She has her fingers slipped into his back pocket; he has his arm draped around her shoulder. She stops him after a dozen or so steps and Lucas thinks maybe his random, unkind challenge had an impact; that she’s realised she just _must_ turn around and walk back to him and laugh and bend down to whisper near his ear _Lucas Scott, it’s someday_. But instead she pulls her fiancé to her and kisses him near _his_ ear and whispers something to _him_ and they both laugh. As they walk away, Julian looks back over his shoulder and gives Lucas a look that the blonde doesn’t recognise. Until he ponders on it later. Pity.

 

After an hour of brooding, it occurs to him that, now that his flight is later by a couple of hours, Haley may be able to pick him up from the airport after all, so he calls her and asks, suggesting they hang out for the evening to catch up on their last few days, ostensibly how the finalising of his divorce went and how he thinks his new editor will pan out.

“Oh, buddy, that’s even worse timing,” she says, sounding a little flustered. “I’m so sorry but we won’t even be in town when you land.”  
“It’s not a problem,” he assures her. “Where are you off to? A game on the road?”  
“No. Nathan has special leave for a few days.”  
“What? Why? What happened?” he asks, hoping everything is alright.  
“Nothing. Nothing bad,” she assures him, though she sounds a little distracted. “We’re just going away for a few days.”

“Yeah? That’s nice. A family trip. Where are you off to, Hales?”  
“Napa, actually.”  
Haley’s answer rings mockingly in his head and he waits a long time but she says nothing more.

“You’re going to her fucking _wedding_?” he eventually spits out, his tone hostile and bitter.

“Lucas!” she exclaims as if Jamie can hear his cursing.  
“Haley!” he shouts right back.

“Um … you … know?” she asks tentatively.

“Yes. The question is how could you not tell me?” he accuses.  
“Lucas! You insisted that we didn’t. You …”  
“But …”  
“I’m handing you over to Nathan, Lucas,” she interrupts him. “I’ve got less than an hour to finish packing before the cab arrives. I’ll … I’ll catch up with you when we get back to Tree Hill next week.”

He hears their muffled voices for a moment, detects the words _knows, wedding_ , his own name and _hers_.

“Luke,” his brother’s deep voice comes down the line.

“Awesome,” Lucas says drily. “My best friend and my own brother and you couldn’t tell me.”

“Um … what part of that conversation do you not remember?” Nathan asks with a disparaging laugh.  
“Do I have amnesia?” Lucas fires back. “‘Cos I have no recollection of either of you saying _Hey look, Luke, I know this may be tough to hear but I have to tell you Peyton’s getting married_.”

“Not _that_ conversation. _That_ one didn’t happen because the other one _did_. You know? The one where you stood in _our home_ and ranted and raved to Haley and me, and read the riot act and said we were to never mention her name again?”  
“Yeah, but …” he protests, sounding weak even to his own ears.  
“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for Haley to not talk about one of her best friends? And how hard it’s been for me not to talk about my _very best_ friend? And how hard it’s been for Jamie, your nephew, not to talk about his favourite aunt?”

“But …” Feeble. That’s how he sounds; feeble.

“No buts, Lucas. Just _asses_ , ie you being a total one. You moved on. You got married. But you still made it so we had to have separate parts in our lives. No more. We are going to Sawyer’s wedding. Haley is a bridesmaid. Brooke is Maid of Honour. Jamie is an usher. I’m walking her down the aisle. She is part of our family. She is a pivotal, crucial, _much loved_ part of our family. You can choose to remain so or not, Luke. But from now on, it’s on our terms, not yours.”

“I …” One word, one _letter,_ that sounds like a plea.

“Fine,” Nathan sighs, “what do you want to know?”

“I had no idea you were all in touch. God … When? Is he ..? Fuck!”

“We’ve never _not_ been in touch. Hales, Jamie and I. Sawyer and Davis. We never dropped it,” Nathan tells him unapologetically. Maybe even with relief.

“I … I guess I just assumed it would be as hard for her … and she’d … but I guess _she_ got over it …”

“It _was_ just as hard for her,” Nathan says harshly. “Maybe harder, Luke. I mean … _you_ were the one that walked away, not her. After you had your big Never Speak Her Name Again hissy fit, I asked her straight out. I asked her if she needed us to do that for her too.”

_“Sawyer. I … I’m gonna just come out and ask you something, okay?”_

_“Sure.”_

_“Do you want for us to blacklist him?”_

_“What? No! He’s your brother and he’s Haley’s best friend. I’d never … and besides, I’m in LA. You’re all in Tree Hill.”_

_“I don’t mean physically. I know you’d never ask that. I mean … do you need us not to mention him when we’re talking to you?”_

_“Why?”_

_“I just … I know it’s hard. I know you’re really hurting.”_

_“Nathan. That’s sweet … or sick. I’m actually not sure which. But … no.  I mean, yeah it’s hard. Really hard. But … just because he doesn’t want this anymore, that doesn’t mean I just … stop caring, right? I want to know he’s doing well. And … sure it’s hard to hear his name right now, but … desensitisation therapy right? The more I hear his name, the easier it’ll get. Or something. At least, maybe once I’ve heard it a few dozen times I’ll be able to hear it without crying.”_

_“Alright. You’re sure?”  
“Why did you ask?”_

_“Just … no reason.”_

_“Nathan Scott! Even on the phone from the other side of the country I can tell when you’re lying! Why?”  
“Sawyer …”  
“Oh. Right. I get it._ Lucas _has blacklisted_ me _, right?”_

_“Peyton. I’m sorry.”  
“Why? It’s not your fault, Nate. Well. I guess that little gem gives me added incentive to get over it, right? After everything, he doesn’t even … hey, Nate?”_

_“Yeah.”  
“Thanks.”_

_“For what?”_

_“For not blacklisting me. You know … way back, when_ we _split up; you and me.”_

 _“Peyton. We weren’t …”  
“I know. I know, Nathan. We weren’t … epic. Except for epic yelling matches. But … for how young and messed up we were at the time … we were …”  
“Something.”  
“Yeah. We were something. So … thanks. For not being a …”  
“For not being whatever my dumbass brother is being?”  
“Something like that. I’m glad we made it past the hate each other stage and got to be friends.”  
“There was _never  _any hate to get past, Sawyer.”_

_“Good to know, Scott. Good to know.”_

“She … didn’t?”  
Nathan repeats back to his brother the conversation he recalls vividly, that he’d held on speakerphone while he had dried a few dishes and that, after he’d hung up, discovered Haley had overheard from her spot leaning against the doorway into the kitchen.  She’d merely shaken her head and they’d later agreed that while she’d be there for _her_ best friend, she’d certainly not be discouraging Nathan from being there for _his_. 

The whole phone call was still etched in his mind because it’s what truly brought home to him what a total idiot Lucas had been, and how right she’d been to say not yet, to say _someday_. She’d had a rough year in LA in the lead up to that ill-advised proposal, and even though she probably couldn’t see it herself, she’d grown so much, and matured and she had perspective and insight and foresight and … just every kind of sight.

“Lucas, you … look I’m sorry man, but you must see it now? You made a huge mistake by walking away. And you made an even bigger one by pretending that you _hadn’t_ made a mistake. You could have fixed it. For a long time afterwards, you could’ve fixed it. She would’ve taken you back in flash with no hard feelings. But … you moved on. You got involved with Lindsey. She started seeing Julian soon after that. You got married. She had a wobbly moment then but she took stock and she really …”  
“She knew?”  
“We’ve established that she didn’t put a news block on you, Luke.  She knew all the big stuff.”  
“When I got …”  
“When you got married, she got a little … nostalgic. For a while.  She …”  
“She what?”  
“She asked Julian if she could have a little time.”  
“They broke up?”  
“No. ‘Cos he wasn’t as stupid as you.  She asked for a little time and he gave it to her. He took a project overseas for a few weeks and when he came back …”

“What?”  
“She asked him to move in.”

“ _She_ asked _him_?” he repeated, stunned. Peyton Sawyer? The girl notorious for putting up walls and holding people at arms’ length? _She_ asked _him_ to move in with her?

“Yeah. She hadn’t planned it. When she told us, she said she’d known she wanted to stay with him, but that when she saw him come through arrivals at the airport she just knew he was the one, and that it was the right time.”

“And your other question was going to be is he good enough for her? Right?” Nathan prompts after a long moment of silence from his brother.

“Yeah. But … I mean … I guess you don’t know him that well. Just what you’ve heard.”

“We know him pretty well,” Nathan contradicts. “We’ve met him plenty. We’ve stayed with them in New York. They’ve come to some games that weren’t too far from New York or when they were travelling and we intersected.”  
“Aunt Brooke and Uncle J …” Lucas muses.

“What?”  
“I heard Jamie talking about Aunt Brooke and Uncle J a while back. I just … assumed it was one of Brooke’s …”

“Nope.”  
“Jamie calls him Uncle?”

“Yeah, Luke, he does. Julian is amazing with Jamie. They both are. Jamie can’t wait for them to start popping out ‘almost cousins’ for him to look after.”

“Oh God.”

“Luke, look, I have to go. Haley needs a hand before the cab gets here. I … we’ll be back in a week. Well, Hales and Jamie will. I’ll be back on the road for a two week run. Look … keep in touch. I’m here for you. I am. But I won’t hear anything against her. Not anymore.”

 

It’s not quite two weeks later when Lucas walks into Haley’s kitchen and hands her a medium sized flat parcel.

“A present?” she exclaims. “And it’s not even my birthday.”

“Sorry but no,” he replies as she turns on the kettle. “It was on your front step.”

She turns the package over, reads the sender details, gives him an odd look, then puts the package to one side.

“You’re not opening it?” he asks. “Since when does Haley James not open a package in five seconds flat?”

“That’s Haley James _Scott_ , thank you very much. And since I know what it is and I don’t need to open it right now.”  
“Now I’m curious,” he whines. “Open it!”  
“Lucas …”  
“Haley! Oh … I get it … it’s something … _personal_ ,” he says with a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows. “Something to be kept next to the … marital bed, maybe?”

“Ew!” she whines, reaching over the counter to slap his arm. “Firstly, never say the words _marital bed_ to me again and secondly, my husband and I don’t need … _assistance_ in that regard, thank you very much.”

“Okay, now it’s my turn to say _ew_!” he laughs.

She continues making coffee, and he watches her gaze slide to that parcel several times before he rolls his eyes and, while she has the hot kettle in one hand and a coffee press in the other, leaps and grabs it and begins tearing the tape of it.

“Lucas!”

“Oh, go on, Haley. Admit it! You want it to be opened. I’m helping you out.”

“Fine,” she says archly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He has no idea what she means until a minute later when he discards a triple layer of tissue paper to reveal the back of a photo frame. And he knows that he should just put the frame face down on the counter and leave it. Or leave himself. But it’s like the sick fascination that occurs when you drive past a car crash; you just can’t help but turn your head a little. And maybe you convince yourself that it’s just to make sure everyone is okay. But it’s not. It’s a _thank God that’s not me_ moment. Or a _thank God that’s not my mother, father, brother, sister, husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, friend, child_ moment.  So, he turns it over. And it’s a _fuck, I wish that was me_ moment.

Peyton. In a beautifully simple wedding dress; sleeveless and summery, above the knee, showing those glorious legs, dammit. Casually elegant. Hair in an insanely messy and pretty pile on her head. Wearing that unusual necklace that he’d seen her receive a couple of weeks ago. Laughing straight at the camera.

Julian next to her. In a casual but obviously made to measure suit, open necked shirt. Looking not at the camera, but at her. His bride.

Both of them holding the hands out in front of them, presenting their wedding rings to the photographer. A little halo of light sparkling around her engagement ring.

Surrounded by her Tree Hill family; Larry, Brooke, Nathan, Haley, Jamie. All with wide smiles. All basking in the joy, sharing in the occasion.

He closes his eyes and reminds himself to breathe. He feels Haley gently remove the frame from his hands and hears her return it into the packaging, then slide a mug across to him.

“You okay?” she asks tentatively.

“Ask me again in … oh, I dunno … another lifetime or so?”

“I’m sorry, Luke,” she says compassionately, resting her hand on his for a moment.

“No. It’s … it’s not … don’t _you_ be sorry, Hales.”

She looks at him and he looks at her and she sees he has so many questions that he can’t, or won’t, ask.

“I didn’t like him at first,” she begins.  
“No?”  
“No. Because … well, I made up all sorts of reasons why, but it really came down to the fact that he wasn’t you and a part of me resented her for moving on, even though you did first, and even though I knew how much she struggled with that. But, well, Brooke _loved_ him for her. She even said if Peyton didn’t play her cards right and keep him, that Brooke would gladly take him off her hands. And … he and Nathan hit it off right from the start. Nathan did his big _caveman, dragging Julian into a corner and giving him a thorough grilling to see if he was good enough for her_ act, which Peyton did _not_ thank him for one little bit. But Nathan just laughed and gave her a big hug and told her that he’d always look out for her. And she stood there with her hands on her hips and her eyebrow sky high and tapping her foot. And Nathan just laughed and laughed at her. Eventually she poked him and said _‘Well then, Scott? What’s the verdict?’_ and he just winked and said, ‘ _He’ll do_.’ So … he was two for two at that point. And before we knew it, Jamie was asking Julian if he was going to marry his _Cool Aunt P_ , and Julian was saying they’d only been dating for a few months but that he’d make sure he kept Jamie in the loop and … you know what’s really cute? Before Julian proposed he called here and he asked to speak to Jamie, and he asked Jamie for his permission to propose to _Cool Aunt P_. And … I was won over by then, but even if I hadn’t been … that would’ve sealed the deal. And … Lucas, I’m sorry. I am. But … she is _so_ happy. And he is _so_ right for her. And … you …”  
“I know. I brought it on myself. I was immature, and selfish, and stubborn and … you can stop me any time you like, Hales.”

“Um … how about I just congratulate you on your self-awareness? Even though it’s a few years too late?”

“And you call yourself my best friend?” he teases, placing his hand over his heart. “That hurts, Haley James … _Scott_.”

“ _Are_ you going to be okay?” she asks warily.

“I have to be, don’t I?”

“Yeah, you kind of do.”

“I’ve been a jerk, haven’t I? Making you not talk about her and …”

“Yeah, you kind of have.”

“Do you … have her address?”

“Lucas,” she warns, “you can’t …”  
“No!” he exclaims. “No. No meddling. No trouble. I promise. I just thought … I should send her … _them_ … a gift. Or … a note … or … something. Just to …”

“Mend fences?”

“Just to … stop being a jerk?”

“She’d really like that, Lucas.”  
“You think?”

“No, I _know_. She … we _all_ felt your absence at the wedding. She would have liked for you to have been there, I think. She would have liked to have felt that she could _ask_ you to be there.”

He rests his hand on the corner of that frame for a moment and nods.

“Well,” he says, squaring his shoulders, “let’s see if I can make it so that next time there’s something to celebrate, she _can_ ask me.”

 

**Twelve Months Later**

He’s only half paying attention when he opens the envelope, but when he slips the card out he smiles. Hand written. Cute little doodles on it.  Something to celebrate in more ways than one.

 

**_Lucas Scott_ **

_Please help us celebrate the safe (and mercifully punctual!) arrival of_

**_Davis Nathan Baker_ **

_At the home of his godparents, Nathan and Haley Scott_

_Saturday 20 June 2015_

_3.30pm - Naming Ceremony_

_4pm – Party On!_


End file.
